


love foolish

by sunstruck (sesunmi)



Series: Never Gonna Love Again [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Blood and Gore, Childhood Friends, Demon Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Emotional Constipation, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied Murder, M/M, Pining, i do love my analogies, see how much imagery and figurative language i can cram into this thing, tunnel vision and teenage angst, unnecessarily sentimental
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27028777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sesunmi/pseuds/sunstruck
Summary: Among his childhood friends, Mark's the only one who's never made him bleed. Given how long they’ve known each other, that’s pretty impressive. But then again, he's also the source of half of the emotional anguish Donghyuck’s ever experienced.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Series: Never Gonna Love Again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995370
Comments: 23
Kudos: 88
Collections: Challenge #2 — tricks; treats; and terrors





	love foolish

**Author's Note:**

> title: [LOVE FOOLISH · TWICE](https://youtu.be/PeFXRIJXYZo)
> 
> did you read the tags? u might wanna read them again. there is: gore and blood... and there is also implied murder

Lee Donghyuck is scrappy.

He’s got bruised elbows, a scar on his left knee, and yesterday when Renjun pushed him off the seesaw, he bit off part of his inner cheek.

He’s six years old and there’s sand between his toes when this boy approaches him with a dorky smile.

The boy invites himself into the pit, plopping down criss-cross applesauce. The burs clinging onto his black basketball shorts are buried under.

Donghyuck stares until the boy shifts uncomfortably.

“Hi,” says the boy, rubbing the back of his neck. “My name’s Mark.”

“Take off your shoes, you'll get sand in them.” As an afterthought, he tells the boy his name too. “I’m Donghyuck.”

The sun casts an amber glow. It shines past the scattered clouds and blends into a bloody red, and bleeds darker and darker still until it’s black and inky, filling up every crevice of the sky.

That’s how they first meet. Boys, six and seven years old sitting together in a sandbox, the sun blazing a line on the horizon, toes and spiky burs beneath the sand.

**** 

He’s ten to Mark’s eleven when he begins thinking about it, and he tells Mark before Mark’s birthday, during the short period where they’re the same age; sometime before August, when the maple trees turn fiery orange and begin to lose their leaves.

Mark's called him something of a demon before, so Donghyuck figures it's fine to tell him that, well, that's what he is. A demon. The man-eating monster humans seem so wary of, living in plain daylight relatively unseen.

Saying it is like pouring stones into a wheelbarrow. Every word is heavy and letting it go is cathartic. 

Then he looks at Mark, and Donghyuck's sinking into the ocean like a heavy, unmovable stone. His stomach sinks, down, down, there’s a pressure on his windpipe that makes it hard to speak, and he finds it impossible to breathe, lungs pressurized into small, small things.

Mark's face is colorless, his eyes wide, and his whole body quivers like a leaf— so delicate, the slightest breeze could blow him away. His hands are clasped together so tight that they're bright with blood.

"Say something," Donghyuck says, his throat parched and mouth dry.

"Okay," says Mark. His voice cracks. Like a spooked animal, his eyes can't decide where to look— they dart between the clouds, his hands, the ground. Not once does he look at Donghyuck. "I don't really know what to say. Oh my god, what do I say? I’m sorry Donghyuck, but I—"

That's all he can bear to hear.

Donghyuck hops off the swings and walks away.

He runs, crunching over the leaves beneath his feet. He trips over his laces and trips and falls onto the zebra crossing, and it takes a few seconds for him to get back on his feet.

His body aches but his skin doesn’t break. He doesn’t bleed.

But he stumbles his way home, heavy and filled with heartache.

****

“I have a simple solution for you,” Mother says, clasping her hands together. Donghyuck already knows what she’s going to say. “Eat him.”

“We’ve been over this so many times,” Donghyuck complains, only able to muster half the strength that’s usually there when she ribs him about this. “I’m not eating Mark.”

“Should I eat him for you then?”

It’s just a joke, but something dark and ugly roars alive in Donghyuck’s body at the thought. He has to unclench his jaw and breathe quietly to get the smoke spreading under control. “No, he’s mine. He’s mine alone.”

Mother pats him on the back soothingly, eyes soft. “I know, I know. He’s yours, Donghyuck. He’s yours.”

Mine, something in him purrs. Ours. And it settles back into his skin before he can even think.

Just joking about Mark being a snack, something to eat— that alone is enough to rile him up. He’s really far too attached to him. There’s not a thing to be done about that though. Donghyuck’s body is hungry for Mark’s. Not in a traditional sense, not for Mark’s body, but for Mark’s presence.

****

Mark still hangs out with him, but he’s unable to look Donghyuck in the eyes for almost two weeks.

Donghyuck appreciates it, he really does. There’s been people who have accepted things with much less grace. He’s accepted you, he reminds himself, again and again. Everything’s changed though, and things will never be the same.

Humans burn and cremate their own when they die, or bury them beneath the dirt and forget about them. Donghyuck wishes he could do the same to these memories. Anything to forget how Mark flinched away from his gaze, hands clenched into fists as if to will himself to not run away, like he was forcing himself to be here with Donghyuck, for Donghyuck.

He feels like he’s being pried open on the inside. The dread bubbling in his soul takes form in a voice, and it speaks to him, sweet and chiding. 

_ This is just how humans are, you know. Donghyuck, you should really get used to this. _

****

His blood sings as he sits beside Mark, who’s telling him about the mundanities of his day.

Mark shows him this duck he’s carved from soap.

“I’ve named him Duckie,” Mark says, quiet and almost shy. The fringe of his hair sweeps right above his eyes. Mark’s not meeting his eyes. He’s staring at Donghyuck’s eyebrows, or maybe forehead, as he hands off the soap duck to Donghyuck, like an elementary schooler handing over sweets to his crush. His hands are slippery with sweat and warmer than his own.

Donghyuck’s heart hums and his cheeks boil and he’s floating in his bubble of feelings. It’s absolute bliss— everything is glistening, bright, beautiful, and sweet. He takes the duck from Mark, light and delicately, and cradles it in his arms like it’s a fragile, precious thing.

It turns sour soon after, stained by his lingering thoughts and longing. One day, he’ll be all alone. Mark won’t want him anymore. Whatever it is between them will cease to be.

He doesn’t like to think about it.

****

Words of acceptance are only skin deep. When someone tells you how they feel, perhaps that’s what they think they believe while they reject you with their soul.

Donghyuck's thought about this a lot— about how people react to things.

There’s people like Mother, who’ve always known. Then Yeri, with her glittery murder girl band, who've adopted him after pushing him down the stairs and bloodying his nose. People in the know, people who will be delighted to know.

Then there's people like Renjun, who regard him with some sort of disdain and annoyed apathy. They share this strange sort of push-pull that's haphazard and messy, but ultimately, does Renjun's acceptance matter to him?

Yes, somewhat. 

But Renjun, and so many other people, they're not so close to his heart. 

Mark though.

How would Mark react?

Sometimes he thumbs through the pages of his memories like they're polaroids: snapshots of moments stuck in time, printed onto paper with a yellow tinge. Would Mark discard all these upon seeing the sea of bones beneath Donghyuck’s feet?

Donghyuck wonders, anxiety dripping into the bog of uncertainty in his belly. How naive can he afford to be?

****

Blood coats Donghyuck, and drips down in droves, sticky and heavy. He feels so warm. His blood is curdling. He's never felt so alive. He grins wildly, down at the viscera spilling beneath his feet, ready to eat—

Mark screams.

Mark screams until his throat is hoarse, till he can't anymore without coughing. He coughs and coughs and hacks like he's drowned— trying to get the water out of his lungs, where there is none. He's sweaty, shivering, shaking, pallid and face gone green. The tear tracks on his eyes begin to dry, and his eyes are violently red. Snot drips down his nose, slimy and mixing with the tears on his chin.

Mark’s not there to see it happen— not physically. But he knows. He feels it, he can tell that Donghyuck’s drenched in gore as much as Donghyuck can recognize the chokehold Mark has on his tears and the churning of his insides.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

"Donghyuck," he can feel Mark croak. Mark falls to his knees on his bedroom floor, hands clasped to the sky like he’s praying for this to not be true.

But here he is, knee deep in a pool of dirt and blood, feeling alive and wanting to die so badly, feeling Mark mourning like he’s lost someone close to him.

Maybe he has, in a sense, lost Donghyuck. Maybe he’s been clinging onto something that’s been ripped away by him.

Is he mourning over his idea of who Donghyuck is? His memories? Or maybe just over Donghyuck himself, the demon? Donghyuck knows it’s over him, but in what sense?

Donghyuck doesn’t dare ask.

He imagines Mark entangled in all of this, wrapped up in Donghyuck’s life, with a psychic bond that forces him to bear witness to all the bones Donghyuck will snap between his teeth, and his heart aches uncontrollably. But thinking of Mark, sweet and human and far too soft to be in Donghyuck’s world being forcibly removed from his side? That sight is something Donghyuck rejects down to his bones.

****

It's like he's the one dying over this.

He's had nightmares over this, has anticipated this situation, even.

In his dreams, Mark had cried, clinging onto Donghyuck as he did so. Cried, because Donghyuck had killed someone. Donghyuck had done something unforgivable, and deserved to die. He told Donghyuck that right before plunging his hand into Donghyuck's chest to rip his heart out. Dream Donghyuck died right there, gushing blood and dizzyingly weak.

This isn't what happens, not really. 

He's not going to bleed to death, heart in Mark's hands. 

Instead, he gets to die over and over, whenever he feeds and thinks of Mark. And Mark will mourn again and again, the cause of Donghyuck's death each and every time.

Among his childhood friends, Mark's the only one who's never made him bleed. Given how long they’ve known each other, that’s pretty impressive. But then again, he's also the source of half of the emotional anguish Donghyuck’s ever experienced.

The other half is on him.

It's a vicious cycle, a feedback loop of pain being repeated. Something has to give.

****

"You're so half-assed about this," Renjun says, staring at him like he's a particularly stubborn piece of gum stuck to the sole of his shoe. "This whole situation is a shitshow."

Donghyuck grunts, kicking stones on the street. "If you're going to talk shit and analyze my situation, you could at least make it constructive."

"Donghyuck, he's known you’re a demon since he was eleven. He's seen you murder and feed, and he still hangs out with you. He  _ knows  _ you."

Renjun's gaze burns his body and makes him sweat bullets. Under it, Donghyuck withers and scrambles for something to say. "Yeah, but I'm hurting—"

“Donghyuck, shut up.” And like that, Donghyuck’s lips are pinched together by force of Renjun’s magic. Renjun’s always been like this, a mass of forceful will that  _ will be seen and heard, _ demanding respect. He glares, only for Renjun to leer back, icy and unimpressed. Only when Donghyuck looks away does Renjun continue.

"Mark's not stupid, Donghyuck. He's not helpless. Don't treat him like he's a fucking child and make decisions for him when he's already seen you through so much shit."

His jaw is clenched, so tightly wound up, and though he bites his tongue, he can’t keep quiet. So he garbles nonsensically and waves his middle finger in Renjun’s face. 

Renjun continues, his words searing into Donghyuck's skin, unrelenting and excruciatingly painful. "Get your shit together and communicate with him, Donghyuck. He seems ready to talk about it. You...you're not. And you evidently don’t want to eat him, but you’re still unsure of what you are, or what you’re going to be. What the hell are you doing?”

Donghyuck tries to not think about it.

That effort is counterintuitive, in every sense of the word. Because he's conscious that this is something that he wants to ignore now, and though his situation with Mark is nuanced, there is something he can do.

He doesn't want to do anything, if he's honest with himself. He hasn't even defined what that  _ anything  _ is yet, but the thought of acting on it inspires this tight feeling in his throat, and he physically aches.

The reason is laughably simple, really.

He's scared.

Scared over everything. He’s trapped himself here, with nowhere to go, because he isn't willing to risk anything or look elsewhere. He's trapped in insanity, trapping himself in this static fantasy where nothing changes, there are no uncertainties, living this lie each and every day while expecting a new path with all the answers to appear right in front of him.

****

Like how one leaf heralds autumn, change begins with a lazy summer evening.

The clouds crawl by slowly. The sun peaks through, enough to bathe everything in this warm glow, and the world seems vivid and still. Donghyuck could fall asleep in this weather. He would, if his legs weren't dangling off the deck railings.

It's the sort of weather that inspires contentment and comfort.

If he were seven, he'd probably be swinging through the playground, dangling on the bars and crawling up the side of structures like a little gremlin with bruised knees and blistering hands.

But he's not seven anymore. He's tired, preoccupied with more worries on his mind, and he's content to just feel the sunlight on his skin, just like this.

Mark returns from the kitchen, carrying glasses and a pitcher of lemonade on a tray. He pours himself a glass and sits down on one of the chairs and heaves a sigh, kicking one leg over the other before taking a long, noisy sip. Donghyuck closes his eyes, basking in Mark's presence, stress melting away from his shoulders.

"Donghyuck," says Mark, voice flat.

Donghyuck’s chest is tight, his legs feel numb, and though he's got his fingers clenched tightly on the railing, he still feels like he might slip and fall and go sprawling across the concrete. Donghyuck focuses on the hum of the fans rather than Mark's voice. He'd normally find the sounds annoying, but they're a welcome distraction in this moment.

"Yeah," Donghyuck mumbles back, half-focused and dizzy.

Mark doesn't respond for a while. He stays silent, till Donghyuck looks over his shoulder to check if he's still there.

"Donghyuck," he says, unsteady and unsure, his eyes fixed on his shoes, like he's a child ashamed, forcing himself to recite his wrongdoings. "Lucas asked me out. I think I'm going to say yes."

His blood is flowing backwards and crawls and itches beneath his skin, body reknitting itself. His own tongue is lodged in his throat. He can't speak.

So he bears his teeth and smiles instead, spread so wide that his cheeks hurt as much as his heart.

Mark smiles back, his eyes shining with some indistinguishable emotion. He nods in affirmation.

Donghyuck’s heart slows in it’s hammering, like he’s holding his breath and running out of oxygen to breathe. Everything feels slow and heavy. He can’t let that show. He breathes through his nose and it’s like he’s inhaled water, heavy and unbreathable, but he forces himself to speak anyway.

“Lucas, huh?”

****

It's fine. It's fine.

It's not fine, but it's fine.

He wants to stay in his shattered little fantasy so bad, and he's already been clinging onto it desperately. But it hurts anyway.

He was supposed to be fine with this. This was supposed to be enough.

Lee Donghyuck is lovesick.

His heart of glass hasn't been his own for a long time. Mark holds it in his hands, and he was content with that, for a while. He would take whatever Mark would give him. That was enough.

It's not enough anymore. He wants more.

He's a fucking fool.

He wants more.

**Author's Note:**

> boop!! <33 ty for reading
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/sesunmi)  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/sesunmii)


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